


An Inconvenient Arrangement

by ngk_they_said, Thyra279



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale needs a somatics therapist, Gen, I hope that doesn't awaken anything in me, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Medieval Europe, Other, The Arrangement (Good Omens), but instead he's going to listen to Crowley explain how temptations work, pining but largely being oblivious about it, training your hereditary enemy to do your job for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ngk_they_said/pseuds/ngk_they_said, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyra279/pseuds/Thyra279
Summary: The year is 1020(-ish?) and both Aziraphale and Crowley are frustrated with their work. Crowley proposes an Arrangement that could make both their lives easier. Aziraphale stumbles into their new collaboration with a lot of conflicting feelings: about being tempted, about how it feels when Crowley does blessings, about his own struggles to perform temptations, about the differences between angels and demons, and about the risks they are both taking.The Arrangement's origin (and rocky start), from Aziraphale's POV, with characterizations nestled somewhere between TV and book canon. Written and illustrated for the Good Omens Reverse Bang. (Fic by @ngk_they_said. Art and concept by @Thyra279.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 23
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration for the Good Omens Reverse Bang event. [@Thyra279](https://thyra279.tumblr.com) created the gorgeous artwork and proposed the concept; [@ngk-they-said](https://ngk-they-said.tumblr.com) wrote the fic after stewing on Arrangement fic ideas of her own for a year. Thank you to [@tickety-boo-af](https://tickety-boo-af.tumblr.com) for the beta feedback.
> 
>  **Posting schedule** : The story will be about four chapters, with a happy ending. I might write a happier post-canon epilogue if the mood strikes me. The writing is over half complete and most of the art is in progress, so we expect regular updates (perhaps weekly if we can manage).
> 
>  **Content warning for Chapter 1** : Description of a sick baby (who is fine in the end), alcohol mentions

ziraphale stumbled into the inn, at long last. Just a few more minutes now, and he would be settling into a nice warm room for the night. He could set his pack down, take off his soggy boots, perhaps wash his face. He scanned the common area, looking for the innkeeper, but only saw the dusty faces of other travelers tucked into bowls of stew and tankards of ale. He slowly rubbed his thumb and middle finger together, considering. Maybe just a quick miracle to...

"Oi! Aziraphale!"

No. 

Aziraphale tried looking away from the source of that familiar voice, but it was too late; Crowley was already walking over.

"Aziraphale! Fancy running into you here." 

Crowley was grinning, and Aziraphale was just… so incredibly tired. "Crowley! What a surprise," he managed.

"Here for work, I take it?" Crowley asked.

"Mmm. And you?" Aziraphale said, looking away from Crowley to scan the room again.

"Obviously. I didn't expect they'd be sending an angel to try to thwart me, though."

"They've done no such thing! I had no idea I would find you here," Aziraphale said, still avoiding eye contact.

"Doesn't mean they didn't," Crowley mumbled.

"Hrmph. As far as I'm concerned, there needn't be any thwarting," Aziraphale said. "We can just… mind our own business this time around." 

"Hah, that's rich, coming from you. I thought you put down 'thwarting the demon Crowley's wiles' on your goal chart in your last bi-millennial performance evaluation."

"Oh, please. I'll leave you alone for this one. I swear it. I really could not be bothered," Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley just stared at him.

"Anyway, with that cleared up, I'll bid you goodnight, Crowley. I'm off to find the innkeeper--I'm completely exhausted."

"You won't be finding him for a bit. He, ah, happens to be occupied at the moment. He and the barkeep." Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale gasped. "You didn't!"

"Come with me, have a seat. You can have my stew--not my thing, really."

Aziraphale sighed and followed Crowley back to his table.

"You're sure you're not going to eat that?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nah, go ahead," Crowley said. He grabbed his tankard. "Beer is food."

"Unfortunately, yes," Aziraphale sighed. "That does seem to be the prevailing opinion on this continent these days."

"So. Let me guess," Crowley said, nudging the bowl of stew towards Aziraphale. "You're here to bless the lord of Stroud Manor."

"How did you--"

"--because I'm to tempt him into sin, sow the seeds so that eventually his management of the manor will fail and ultimately the land can move to… well, nevermind that bit…" Crowley paused to take a swig of his ale. "All I'm saying is, isn't it odd we've both been sent? Don't you think we'll just be canceling each other out?"

"Not with this again, dear boy. I'm sure there's a good reason for it. Like you say, I'm _meant_ to thwart you. I should be pleased for the opportunity to cancel out your work."

"But are you?"

Aziraphale didn't dignify that with a response.

"Yes, fine, canceling out and all that," Crowley said. "Maybe that's meant to be the outcome. But isn't the means of getting there quite inefficient? What if neither of us went at all, leave this bloke to just live out his life? It'd probably look the same in the end."

"Absolutely not!" Aziraphale said, and took a bite of the stew. "Oh, this is delicious." 

Crowley smiled.

After a minute, Crowley spoke again. "Or…" he said slowly, "we could share the load. You seem tired. I could just go--do the blessing _and_ the tempting."

"What? You can't be serious," Aziraphale muttered into his bowl, but took another bite. He found it hard to muster the energy for an impassioned moral argument.

"I _am_ serious! You must be knackered. You've been working non-stop…"

"Back-to-back assignments, yes."

"Lots of travel, I'm guessing…"

"Just got back from blessing an artist in Cologne, and France before that..."

"All that! And Heaven gets what, another gilded cross?"

"It's not merely an object, Crowley. Art is meant to inspire. It could hang in a cathedral for centuries and be the spark that guides countless people towards the light."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious, Aziraphale. What if I just let you rest tomorrow? You can tell me the details of your assignment and I'll do them both while I'm visiting with the manor lord tomorrow. Honest."

Aziraphale put down his spoon. "You couldn't possibly--"

"--do a blessing? Don't you want to find out?" Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale paused and rolled the idea around his mind. The thing was… he did want. How could he not be curious? What would divine power look like, held in his demonic companion's hands? Could he really do it? Would it be any different than an angel's blessing? (It simply _must_ be.) Wouldn't it hurt him? 

Even in his state of exhaustion, this new possibility bloomed in his mind. Each question unraveled another, and he couldn't stop himself from imagining possible answers. Best keep that to himself, Aziraphale decided. He knew Crowley could tease out the slightest hint of idle curiosity and weaponize it into a sharp-edged, irresistible temptation, without even using his powers. (He would never use his powers on Aziraphale. Aziraphale could barely decide whether to trust Crowley on a good day, but somehow he knew this implicitly.)

"I don't trust you," Aziraphale said, after a moment. "I can't just send you off blessing people, unsupervised."

"Come with me, then," Crowley said. "See that it's done right."

"You can't be serious. What if Heaven were to... I couldn't possibly be seen--"

"--guiding a demon to the light? You'd get a commendation. I'm the one putting myself on the line here." Crowley looked at him, his amber eyes peeking out above his dark glasses.

Aziraphale twirled his spoon around the remaining stew, avoiding Crowley's eyes. He knew he was being tempted (in the ordinary human way), but there was something so genuinely earnest in his gaze.

"I'll think about it," he said after a minute.

"Great," Crowley said. "Meet me down here for breakfast and you can let me know what you've decided?"

"Sure. All right," Aziraphale said, not looking up from his bowl.

"Oh, look, is that the innkeeper?" Crowley said, gesturing his head towards an older man who just walked in. "You look exhausted, angel. Go get yourself a room. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow…" Aziraphale said, dazed. He grabbed his pack. "Oh. Thank you for the stew."

"My pleasure," Crowley said.

* * *

Crowley led his horse forward until he was riding next to Aziraphale.

"Isn't the manor that way?" Crowley asked, gesturing behind them at a fork in the path.

"We're not going there," Aziraphale said. "Well, not together, at least. I'm afraid that blessing's too complex for you. Not to mention that it's a specific assignment. I can't have it going wrong--think of the paperwork! You're going to take on one of my quota-fillers!" Aziraphale tried to convey the idea with appropriate enthusiasm, but Crowley just groaned.

"Oh, don't pout. You'll like it. I heard a villager talking about a baby who has been sickly. We're paying his mother a visit. You're good with children."

"Yeah, yeah, don't go spreading it around..." Crowley muttered.

"Either way, no one will notice if.. _when_... you mess this one up. We start here," Aziraphale said firmly, and guided his horse to take the lead again.

After they arrived and tied up their horses, Crowley led the way down and knocked at the cottage door. Aziraphale could almost sense a touch of… was it nervousness? 

A peasant woman appeared at the door, cradling a year-old baby at her hip.

"Good afternoon, Madam," Crowley said awkwardly, clutching the healer's bag he had hastily miracled into existence moments before. "My name is Crowley. I'm a traveling physician, just passing through the area. My, ah, assistant tells me that your son has been ill?"

The woman stared at the two of them for a moment, perplexed, until a gentle demonic suggestion reminded her that she had, indeed, called for them.

"Yes, yes. Please come in…"

They stepped into a single-room cottage--it was cramped, but clean and dry. The woman led them to a small table near the cooking fireplace. A young man (her teenage son?) was lounging on a straw bed across the room, carving something.

An awkward silence settled over the table after they took their seats. The woman's gaze flipped between Aziraphale and Crowley, her expression shifting from uncertain to confused as the silence dragged on. The baby lay in her arms, eyes glazed.

"Ahem," Aziraphale said, kneeing Crowley sharply under the table.

"Ah. Erm. Yes. Lovely home you have," Crowley said. "Is this the boy, then?"

The woman nodded.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"He's been sick for two weeks now. Well, he's always been sickly. Lots of fevers and things, coming and going. But it's never been this bad…" 

Aziraphale let his human eyes soften, and he focused his attention on the light in his own chest before reaching for an impression of the boy. He guided an invisible stream of his light out to the baby, warming, illuminating… ah, there… he sensed flowing waves of a simpler life energy that didn't match the boy's. He noticed the furious but nearly invisible defensive work staged by the boy's body, how those battles were straining the balance of his delicate organ systems...

Crowley's voice pulled Aziraphale back to human sensory awareness. "Can I see him?"

The woman lifted the boy across the table. Crowley sat him in his lap, and set about his performance of an examination, pressing the back of his hand to the boy's forehead. 

Aziraphale felt a small, warm lightness surge in the room. He thought it must be the boy echoing a little of Aziraphale's divine energy from earlier; most young children could align themselves with it quite easily. He was surprised, though, that he could manage that with Crowley peering into his ears...

Crowley moved to examine the baby's tongue. The light pulsed stronger, resonating now in Aziraphale's chest, along with his own. Aziraphale held his breath.

The light's vibration rose higher still, until it culminated in a sharp popping sensation, and started to fade into a shadowed void, an elegant darkness quite different from the dimness of the cottage.

_Oh. Crowley._

Aziraphale turned his attention back to the boy. He seemed mildly surprised, but not uncomfortable. Aziraphale could feel the last of the invasive disease's life energy evaporating in the air around them. Azirapale began to gather warmth in his chest again, ready to send out a command of resiliency and healing to the boy's exhausted body, but found that the suggestion had already been placed. It didn't feel like the firm, loving demand to be well that Aziraphale would have installed. It was a sweet, gentle invitation--the softest temptation. _There. You've done so well, little one. You don't need that inflammation any more, do you? Let go, that's it. Doesn't it feel good, to be well? Yes, yes. A bit more? It would please your mother so. Wouldn't you like to?_

Aziraphale turned his attention back to the room and his own body. He realized he still hadn't breathed in a suspiciously long time. He closed his eyes and forced the most normal, human-like inhalation he could manage. When he exhaled and opened his eyes again, he saw Crowley staring fondly at the boy, rubbing small circles into his back. Crowley's miracle seemed to be over, but the resonant warmth lingered in Aziraphale's chest. _Must be the boy_ , _then,_ he thought, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from Crowley's gentle expression.

"Well. I know what's ailing your son," Crowley said. "Fortunately, it's quite curable. I'll give you an herbal salve. Rub it into his skin twice a day. It should help immediately, and I expect he'll be back to his normal self in a few days."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," the mother cried.

"Shhh. Don't thank me. Just doing my job. My assistant will prepare the salve for you."

Crowley stared pointedly at Aziraphale.

"Yes, yes, of course," Aziraphale said. He made a show of rummaging through the empty doctor's bag, producing a vial of oil and a handful of pleasant-smelling, not-particularly-medicinal herbs wrapped in square of waxed cloth. He poured the oil over the herbs and massaged the cloth to blend them. Crowley reached his fingers in the mixture and spread a token amount on the back of the child's neck.

"Here you are, dear lady," Aziraphale said, offering the cloth.

Crowley stood, and handed the child back to his mother. "That's twice a day. Massage it in a bit. No harm if he ends up with a bit in his mouth."

The woman clasped the child to her chest. "Thank you again," she said. "How can we repay you?"

"Don't worry about it," Crowley said. He grabbed the bag from Aziraphale and started moving towards the door. "Let's go."

Aziraphale followed him, but paused by the young carver's bed on his way to the door. 

"That's lovely--are you making a spoon?"

The young man nodded. Aziraphale reached his fingers behind his back and snapped. 

"Honestly, Aziraphale," Crowley muttered.

On his next stroke through the wood, the boy found the knife offered much less resistance than it had before. He looked up in surprise, but Aziraphale was already walking away. 

He and Crowley turned back to the woman, who was now holding the baby at her hip, arranging kindling for a fire. Aziraphale stepped outside. Crowley lingered in the doorway.

"Ready to go?" Aziraphale asked.

"Just a minute," Crowley said, and re-entered the cottage. 

He emerged a minute later. "Yep, let's go."

"What was that about?" Aziraphale asked, but Crowley said nothing. As Aziraphale followed him down the path, he caught a glimpse through the cottage window. The woman was now crouching over the fireplace, arranging wood with both hands. The baby was tied to her back, cradled in a criss-crossed length of sturdy red cloth.

"You!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "You did that."

"Don't know what you're talking about, angel." He chucked his doctor bag into the bushes.

"The wrap. That was awfully ki--"

"Shut it."

"I'm just saying, you've tied it well. Seems like you know what you're doing," Aziraphale said. "I imagine they'll both be quite happy."

"So what. Perfectly demonic invention, babywearing. A mother can't properly commit evil deeds without both her hands free."

"Of course, dear."

"You're going to count that knife sharpening for your quota, aren't you?" Crowley asked. "Hardly counts if you ask me. He could've done it himself."

"Hrmph."

They walked back to the gate. As he was untying his horse, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. "So, did that meet your standards?"

"Quite! I'll admit, I'm rather surprised that--"

"It's fine. Easy. Like I told you," Crowley said.

Aziraphale didn't respond, focusing instead on his horse.

"Do you believe me now?" Crowley asked. "No reason we can't trade assignments once in a while."

"Well, I-- I don't--" Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley sighed in exasperation and mounted his horse with difficulty. "We're going to talk about this tonight. Over dinner. Think about it. I need to go--I still have a real assignment to do today."

Aziraphale tried, but failed, to find any words that would be adequate.

"Okay…" he called softly as Crowley retreated.

Aziraphale rode back to the inn slowly, in a daze. Crowley and the boy were long gone, but the soft burning sensation in Aziraphale's chest--where his light was--was crystallizing into a sharp ache.

He sent his horse to the inn's stable and decided the manor lord's blessing could wait for tomorrow; he wouldn't want to interfere with Crowley's demonic work on the man. He set out to wander the village. Maybe a spot of lunch would settle the odd feeling in his corporation.

It wasn't until an hour later that Aziraphale revisited that previous thought, with surprise and no small amount of disgust. _Wouldn't want to interfere with Crowley's demonic work…_ wasn't that his very job? His clearest moral duty? How had he allowed himself to… 

He returned to his room and locked the door. The private, quiet space allowed him to finally find permission to refocus on the morning's events. He remembered the soft, gentle, healing light that flowed so effortlessly from Crowley, and then faded into a darkness that Aziraphale found equally beautiful. The boy's gaze, so warm and trusting. 

And worse: the baby wrap. Aziraphale never would have thought of such a thing. Such a tiny detail, the most humble blessing, hardly magic… but Aziraphale appreciated the efficiency of a small bit of goodness applied with surgical precision.

Aziraphale knew what he _should_ do about Crowley. He's always known: clearly he should never associate with him again. But that didn't settle right with him. It had been centuries since Aziraphale had gotten comfortable with the idea that it felt best to keep Crowley at least at arm's length. (This was his professional advantage, he told himself. No other angels knew the enemy as well as he did. And if he enjoyed a bit of companionship now and then, well… it was lonely work, being stationed on Earth.)

His reluctance to team up did not come from a fundamental disagreement with Crowley about the problem. Of course Crowley was right that a certain amount of their work was inefficient at best (and rather unfair to them, at worst). Aziraphale didn't think there was anything particularly wrong with strategizing a bit when they were given certain redundant tasks, but he was afraid of how Crowley would be on the other side of an arrangement like that. Give Crowley an inch and he'd take a mile. Whatever Aziraphale agreed was never enough; it was always Crowley's way to ask, push for more, and Aziraphale wanted--didn't want--

His chest ached again. 

He thought of that light again--something he didn't believe possible, until witnessing it with his own (infinite) eyes today. _No other angels knew the enemy as well as he did._ Surely none of them knew of this… this surprising divine potential. Azirpahale's mind raced imagining the possibilities. He could agree to Crowley's arrangement, and use the opportunity to coax that bit of goodness out of him, help him shape it into something whole again. Perhaps one day Crowley could be forgiven, and they could be proper colleagues, proper friends… not speaking in code and lurking in the shadows (or hiding in plain sight). They could...

 _Oh, bother._ Aziraphale took a deep breath to calm the divine light that was starting to swell out of his corporation. (Why? How? That so rarely happened when he wasn't focused on a miracle.) He needed to get himself under control. Crowley would be returning to the inn soon, expecting an answer.

* * *

"So, ah, how was your assignment today?" Aziraphale asked. He reached for the loaf of stale bread between them on the table and tore off a hunk. Crowley pushed a dish of soft cheese closer to him.

"It was a big waste of time, if I'm honest with you. Got all the way there only to find the lord had left for the day, even though I wrote last month to arrange our meeting. Guess he got called off on some urgent matter. Didn't even leave me a note with the servants. Rude."

Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully. "Isn't rudeness a demonic virtue? I mean, vice? Thought you might appreciate that sort of thing."

"Not when it's me on the receiving end!" Crowley moaned. "I've got better things to do than waiting around for some human to show up to be tempted. Especially when I know you're just going to come along the next day and erase my fine work."

"Wouldn't an expert temptation withstand a little divine intervention?" Aziraphale smirked.

"Psssh."

They were quiet for a minute. Aziraphale stared at his hands, picked at his bread.

"So. Ah. This morning. How'd you do it?" Aziraphale asked, still not making eye contact.

"Nothing to it. It's practically the same thing as a temptation, really," Crowley said.

"Certainly not! I've seen your evil deeds, and it's nothing like-- like what--"

Crowley grinned. "You liked it."

"I-- no! I mean, of course, any angel would relish the opportunity to see a demon explore their inner goodness."

"I'm not so sure they would…" Crowley muttered. "Anyway, nope, no inner goodness here. It's all the same. Just work. Same goes for you… you'd not be succumbing to evil. It's just another day on the job. Just adds a little variety and saves us quite a load of trouble." 

Crowley reached for Aziraphale's cup and refilled it. 

"Are you in?" Crowley asked.

"I-- erm-- I want to try."

"All right, angel!" Crowley's voice boomed. He lifted his cup. "Cheers!"

"Wait, wait, don't get ahead of yourself. I said we can _try._ I'm not entirely convinced this is going to work. I'd like to reserve the right to call it off at any point."

"'Course, 'course. I'm not trying to trap you. It's only fun if you want it."

"I think I do."

Crowley smiled again.

"But!" Aziraphale said. "There ought to be ground rules."

"Like?"

"Not sure yet," Aziraphale huffed. "I'll know them when I see them."

"That's no way to draw up a contract, angel."

"This is _not_ a contract, Crowley, and it will never be. That's my first rule: we can't leave a trace. No paper trail. No one can know."

"Obviously."

"And I can refuse a temptation for any reason of moral objection. No questions asked."

"I'm amused that you think you might object to some of my work but not all of it," Crowley said.

Aziraphale ignored him and continued on. "And you'll have to train me, of course, before I begin."

"I… I told you, angel, there's nothing to it."

Aziraphale glared at him.

"Fine. Training. Okay. Anything else?"

"Like I told you, I'm still figuring it out. Let us take it one step at a time. How about… how about we start here. Tomorrow. You train me and I'll do both the blessing and temptation at the manor house. If that goes well, we'll discuss how to proceed."

"Fair enough," Crowley said.

Aziraphale extended his hand. "Shake on it?"

Crowley clasped his hand and shook it firmly. "It's a deal."

Even though he initiated the handshake, Aziraphale was surprised by the sensation of their hands touching. Crowley's hands were warm, and soft. Why was this a surprise? Aziraphale certainly wouldn't have expected Crowley's corporation to have calloused, working man's hands. But there was something strangely comforting about how Crowley's skin felt pressed into his own. How rarely they touched! He wanted to explore that comfort, understand better why…

"Aziraphale? You still with me?"

"Oh. Terribly sorry. I must be getting tired."

Crowley concluded their awkwardly long handshake with a dramatic wiggling gesture, and took back his hand. Aziraphale distracted himself with another piece of bread.

"Tomorrow morning then," Crowley said. "We get started."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For chapter 2, we bring you an artist double feature! @Thyra279 made the gorgeous painting embedded at the end. Author @ngk-they-said made the animated illuminated letter at the beginning.
> 
> Content warnings: nothing notable for this chapter (only canon-typical F-word use and alcohol mentions.)

here, how about her? She could definitely be inspired to a bit of lust today. Can you sense it?" Crowley turned towards Aziraphale, who was sitting next to him on a stone ledge in the village center.

Aziraphale glared at the woman, squinting. "Hmm… maybe?"

"Go on then. Nice, easy practice round. Lean into that feeling. A temptation is a seed you plant in the soil of their desire, so you've got to figure out who she's eyin', what she wants."

"Crowley! I'd never!"

"You're going to have to. For all of them, not just for lust."

Aziraphale opened his eyes, rubbed his palms on his thighs. "Can't we practice on some greedy merchant, then?"

"Nah, bad idea to start with the abstract stuff. Base physical desires are going to be easier to sense, definitely easier for you to manipulate at first. Just tempt her to arrange a little alone time with someone special. I can tell she's going to be receptive. You won't have to stick around. You'll have your trial run out of the way and we can go ride over to meet with the manor lord."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and focused. It couldn't be that different than sensing those things that motivated his blessings (love, or loneliness, or faith, or need), except that Crowley seemed to suggest he should look for this desire in the body, not only in the spirit. 

Aziraphale reached out towards her, listening, but found only a low, indistinct murmur of want. He tried to flow his way into it, to coax it into a richer, clearer signal, but it slipped away from him each time. When he followed it, seeking to understand where it moved through her body, he got lost along the way.

Aziraphale came back to focus on his corporation again and sighed. "It's not working. I can barely feel anything. It's like looking through fog."

"S'okay, angel. Take a break. We can find a different person and we can give it another try."

During Aziraphale's second attempt, Crowley elbowed Aziraphale in the side.

"Hey!" Aziraphale yelled. "What was that for?"

"You're staring! Don't be creepy!"

"I certainly wasn't! I was focusing intently."

"Don't need to use your face for that, do you?"

"Shut up. You're distracting me."

"Eh, they're already gone. Find another."

With the next person, Aziraphale tried to bring a bit more physicality to his discovery process. Maybe some movement in his own body would help him resonate with the human's embodied sensations...

"Oh bless it, Aziraphale! Stop that! You're embarrassing us both."

Two more humans and two more failed attempts later, Aziraphale was frustrated. "This is hardly fair. It was so easy for you, yesterday."

"Eh. Now that I think about it, I reckon blessings might be a bit easier at first," Crowley said.

"Oh, please. Of course you would assume your work requires more expertise than mine."

"Nah, I just said it's a bit easier to start off with on your side. With blessings you just--give it to them, right? With simple blessings… you know, you just shove it out there a bit." Crowley paused, gesturing. "And it moves easily. But even simple temptations are harder because you're not just pushing it on them. You have to really understand what they want. You bring your power, but it's a negotiation. You're establishing their willingness to be moved. You're offering them a choice, but you're trying to make it irresistible."

"But this is-- I'm not-- I'm not sure I can bring myself to do something like that, Crowley. It's so invasive."

"Oh, get off your high horse. Your lot intrudes on people's lives, too. It's not much different. We're all just meddling. That's what we do here."

"But this takes getting closer."

Crowley paused. "Yeah, you're right," he said, softer. "That's why I'm saying it's harder, angel. I'm just realizing that now. It's okay. Maybe you just need some time with it. You'll figure it out."

Aziraphale didn't feel particularly reassured by that.

Crowley stood. "How about I just take both assignments today? We can meet up tonight and I'll fill you in. You could spend the afternoon practicing, if you like."

"Well, that hardly seems fair to you! You'll have done three jobs in two days, and all I've done is waste your time with this tutorial."

"And eat my stew," Crowley added.

Aziraphale just glared at him.

"I'm very satisfied with where we've landed on this trip," Crowley added with a grin. "Don't worry about fair today. You can make up for it someday."

"All right. If you insist."

As Aziraphale watched Crowley walk away, he felt Crowley's words settle heavily in his gut. _Someday._ Suddenly the full weight of this arrangement was here, in his body, pressing down into his belly and leaving a sharp ache below his ribs. He sat with the ache all afternoon as he studied the townspeople. Occasionally it sharpened into a quick jolt of panic that slowly receded into a steadier level of worry. But in other moments, when he tried to focus on the memory of Crowley's demonstrations, how effortlessly the demon melted into the sensation of his target's desires, the ache below Aziraphale's ribs bubbled up into his chest with a kind of lightness that almost made the heavy feeling disappear.

* * *

Crowley sat down opposite Aziraphale at their usual table at the inn.

"Wow, that porridge looks pretty awful," he said. "Maybe we're both better off sticking to beer tonight."

"Hello to you, too. Yes, you might be right about that."

Crowley handed Aziraphale two sheets of parchment, and gestured to the barkeep for a drink.

Aziraphale looked at the papers, and felt that bubbling in his chest again.

"You wrote my reports? How did you even…?"

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley waved his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Hardest part was finding the parchment, honestly. Can't believe Heaven makes you use the fancy stuff. Bunch of wankers. But I didn't want to miracle it up in case they can… you know..."

"But the report format! How did you know?"

Crowley gave a sly smile. "Don't you also intercept your hereditary enemy's professional correspondence once in a while?"

"I certainly would never--"

"--but given your reaction last night, you must not have caught the memo about my trip here," Crowley said. "Unlike a few times recently when you weren't so surprised to run into me."

Aziraphale tried to protest, but Crowley's smile just grew wider.

"You act like you are Earth's only appointed steward of professional mischief, Crowley."

"And it's quite a burden to bear," Crowley said. "That's why I'm trying to get you on board."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and reached for one of the reports. "Oh! And look at this, you've even matched my handwriting exactly. They won't suspect a thing," he said.

"'Course I did. I'm not a fucking amateur."

"This does make me wonder why you insist on writing in that demonic chicken scratch of yours when you're clearly capable of proper penmanship… but anyway, thank you. You've truly saved me a lot of trouble. It's very nice of you."

"Shhhh!" Crowley snapped.

"Oh, please. It is."

The barkeep handed Crowley a tankard of beer. "Both the blessing and temptation went smoothly today, thanks for asking…" Crowley muttered, and took a sip.

"Oh! Right. My apologies. I'm glad to hear it," Aziraphale said.

"How about you? Any luck this afternoon?"

"Not quite, I'm afraid. I still feel rather cut off from the sensations of desire you describe, so it seems I can't even begin to try a temptation."

"Nothing?"

"I don't know how to sense it. I'm not even sure I can."

"Hmm," Crowley said. "Have you tried looking in on yourself? Figure out what it feels like?"

"Angels don't have desires, Crowley. Least of all sinful desires."

"Eh, some of them do," Crowley smiled. "Anyway, next lesson. Some other demons would disagree, but in my professional opinion, there's no such thing as a sinful desire. Sin is only in the action. Temptation takes root in the desire and leads towards action. So you begin the work by exploring how desire inhabits their body. Maybe it would be easier to start with yours. How does it feel when _you_ want something?" 

"I don't," Aziraphale said. "I'm not human. It won't work like that."

"But you have a human body," Crowley said.

"Hrmph."

"What about…" Crowley started. "What if you imagine what it would be like to have some nice, warm bread with your sad little bowl of gruel? Fresh out of the oven. It's crusty when you tear into it, soft inside…"

Aziraphale resisted the urge to close his eyes and imagine how it would smell.

"See, you want that," Crowley said. "What does that feel like?"

"It sounds good," Aziraphale said. "Better than this…" He let a bit of the slimy grain porridge slide off his spoon.

"How do you know it sounds good? Where do you feel that? Can you follow it?"

Aziraphale set down his spoon. "I… I don't know. I just do," he said.

Crowley sipped his beer.

"I'm not a glutton, Crowley."

"No, you're hungry. Peasant food leaves something to be desired for anyone. It's not sinful. Start with how that feels."

"I--hrgh. I don't think I can," Aziraphale said.

"S'okay."

"But you feel it. My wanting bread."

Crowley nodded.

At Crowley's gentle nod, that smallest gesture, Aziraphale felt some sort of sensation quietly unfold in his body, though he couldn't quite characterize it. He seemed to lack the internal vocabulary necessary to describe it to himself. On an intellectual level, however, he knew why he suddenly felt stirred. Crowley was confirming something Aziraphale had quietly intuited thousands of years ago, something from that small, dark collection of things they did not talk about. That moment of unexpected, raw honesty hanging between them set Aziraphale's insides aflutter in a way he had never felt before. What was that sensation? How did it feel? How could he label the emotion behind it? It didn't seem to help with his temptation tutorial, at any rate; it seemed more complex and intangible than the sensations Crowley had been coaching him to explore.

Aziraphale wasn't sure how to respond. He respected Crowley's moment of radical honesty, but couldn't find a way to meet him there. What could he even say? _I know you feel it. I've known for a long time. You always seem to know what I want._

Maybe he could settle for sharing a much smaller slice of truth. 

"It doesn't seem right that you know how it feels better than I do," he said.

"It's okay, angel. It's not easy. It'll come"

Crowley, ever the optimist, believed in him, wanted so badly to believe this would work. But Aziraphale wasn't so sure.

Crowley worked to finish the last of his beer more quickly. "You've had a lot to think about today. I should probably leave you to it. I'm sure I'll see you on the way out, tomorrow?"

"Yes, I expect so," Aziraphale said softly.

"'kay. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

Crowley snapped as he walked away, and a small loaf of bread appeared on the table, torn in half and gently steaming.

* * *

Ten months later, and Aziraphale didn't feel any closer to mastering the art of performing a temptation. Crowley remained unconcerned by his slow progress, and had been more patient than Aziraphale would expect from a demon. While Crowley took on increasingly complex and high-stakes Heavenly assignments, Aziraphale could only offer demonic grunt work in exchange. Crowley gave him smaller tasks that only required neutral magic for logistics or to set some sort of evil-inspiring chaos in motion. Aziraphale often struggled to understand the impact of this work--rerouting a trail here, fortifying a barrel of wine there, occasionally setting loose a herd of sheep--but Crowley insisted it saved him a lot of trouble.

But Aziraphale remained preoccupied with this sense of unfairness. He felt frustrated with himself, and managed to feel guilty in both directions: both for letting Crowley down, and for this professional trespass of fraternizing with the other side. The latter never felt so serious when he and Crowley were together, discussing their collaboration. In Crowley's company, this Arrangement always felt like a pragmatic choice with a morally neutral outcome. But alone, the doubt and worry crept in. Aziraphale was all too familiar with how those emotions felt in his body; the knot in his gut grew tighter with each week that passed under this unfulfilling Arrangement. He was beginning to feel that perhaps his troubles with the temptation side might be a warning sign.

However, Aziraphale did have to agree with Crowley that the Arrangement was saving them a lot of trouble, if only by consolidating their travels. He found himself feeling less harried, with more time to rest or pursue his personal travels. In fact, thanks to Crowley's help, he was presently enjoying a few weeks posing as a monk in Sussex, where he spent his days devouring manuscripts in the abbey library, occasionally firing off small quota miracles to look busy.

One afternoon a young man knocked on the library door.

"A letter has arrived for you, Brother Aziraphale. Shall I read it to you?"

"No!" Aziraphale said sharply. "But thank you, dear boy," he added.

> _To my trusted comrade Aziraphale, most revered and hard-working servant of Heaven--_

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley tried so hard in his correspondence to take the tone of a normal human letter, but Aziraphale could hear the snark, even in his written voice.

> _\-- by the grace of …_

(Aziraphale noticed a conveniently-placed smudge of ink) 

> … _May you continue in good health and happiness, and may the abundant gifts of springtime be upon you. I find it fitting to tell you of the ease of my professional duties during this particular season, for reasons I hope may be obvious, and I wish you the same facility with your work._
> 
> _I write you to report that I shall be traveling to a port village not far from you, and I humbly ask you therefore that we might meet, to exchange the usual tales and discuss how I might be of service to your ho ** ~~l̴̥̤̃͋̈́̑́ỳ̷̠̻̺͒͒͝~~ **duties, and so thus I beseech you to meet me in the village of Hastings in the afternoon of May the sixth, and I urgently await your reply confirming the same._
> 
> _Fare thee well, from your faithful companion, C._

They had fallen into this pattern early in their correspondence for the Arrangement: Crowley sometimes pretended to be a human working alongside Aziraphale, and they only talked openly in writing about assignments from Heaven. When Aziraphale assisted Crowley, they only arranged it verbally. Crowley had insisted from the beginning that Aziraphale was right to worry about a paper trail, and he designed their pattern of correspondence with Aziraphale's safety in mind. Aziraphale recalled talking about it early on; in retrospect, they had both been more drunk than was wise for such an important conversation.

_"Don't worry about me… Hell is rubbish at paperwork. They'll never see it," Crowley had said._

_"But I do. Worry, that is," Aziraphale had replied._

_"You worry about everything, angel. Relax. I'm the one with an exit strategy here. Worst case I can pass this off as a long game to corrupt an angel. They'd love it, I'm sure. You don't have a good excuse."_

_"No… I don't."_

Whether or not they had been in possession of sound judgment at the time, this particular negotiation had stuck, for better or worse.

Aziraphale reached for a piece of linen paper and a quill, and drafted his reply.

> _To C, dearest comrade in this divine work, how God's light shines brightly through you and your words. I am warmed by your kindest greeting and invitation…_

Aziraphale smiled. He did rather enjoy tormenting Crowley with the Godly praise a human would expect from an ordinary letter. At first, Aziraphale reasoned that their correspondence would be suspicious without it. But quickly Aziraphale began to relish the idea of Crowley being held captive by these performative and perfectly ordinary words of appreciation encoded on the page, unable to hiss or shove or tell him off.

> _… and of course I accept your invitation to meet in Hastings on the sixth. I do as ever appreciate your commitment to supporting me in executing my holy mandate. As I am familiar with the village and its environs, I have taken it upon myself to propose a suitable location for our gathering, as indicated below. Of course I shall as always enjoy your company in the village tavern afterwards if you find yourself with time to spare on your journey._

> _Fare thee well, from your…_

Friend? Could he... _should_ he write such a thing?

> _… from your associate, Aziraphale_

Aziraphale scribbled a crude map, sealed the letter, and grabbed his cloak to take the letter to the village to post. 

He still didn't have a good excuse.

* * *

Aziraphale stood in a clearing, awaiting Crowley's arrival. He tried to pass the time enjoying the chipper birdsong and spring flowers blooming, like a proper angel might, but mostly he was feeling irritated that Crowley was running later than usual.

Finally, he heard footsteps. It must be Crowley, but he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

"Ugh, Aziraphale, my cloak's all covered in burrs," Crowley yelled as soon as they were within sight of each other. "Why'd you drag us out here?"

"I would rather discuss our, erm, business matters in a private location," Aziraphale said.

"A room at the inn is a private location. This is bloody remote, this is."

"One can't be too cautious."

"'Can't be too cautious'," Crowley repeated in a high-pitched mocking voice. He lowered his hood and twisted his cloak around to inspect the damage.

"Your hair!" Aziraphale gasped.

"D'you like it?" Crowley asked. He unsheathed his sword, and attempted to use it to scrape the burrs off his clothes. 

Aziraphale gaped at that, too, but decided not to comment on his methods. "It's… I must say, I've never seen anything like it, and I've been around longer than the invention of the comb. I find it rather horrifying, to be honest."

"You just don't know anything about fashion, angel. I spent last month on a Viking ship and picked it up there."

"Of course you did."

"You'll see. The more they settle, it'll become all the rage across Europe," he said, still struggling with his cloak.

" _Settle_ , really? I doubt anyone will glance up while their village is being pillaged to get fashion advice from the raiders."

"Eh, you never know with these things," Crowley said. "Bless it!" he added, when it became clear the sword thing wasn't panning out.

Aziraphale snapped downward. Crowley's cloak whipped sharply in the breeze, and then settled around his calves, clean as new.

Crowley smiled.

"Anything new from your side?" Aziraphale asked. "I will not, under any circumstances, be taking a Viking assignment, for what it's worth."

"Nah, that was just a bit of my own fun. Let's see, I've got… three priests to tempt this month. Hell's too fixated on that kind of thing, if you ask me. A minor riot to incite… some political work in Qʼumarkaj… I can take that agricultural blessing you've been putting off, while I'm over there in the Americas."

"Anything, ah, suitable for me?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh, you'll love this: want to go do some manuscript work for me? You'll need to intercept the delivery of an original text to a monastery and sneak in a few strategic errors. Set them up to be propagated to a dozen copies, and it'll be too late before they realize their mistake. Talk about efficiency!"

Aziraphale rubbed his brow and sighed.

"What, no good?" Crowley asked. "I mean, 'course it's no good, you know what I mean."

"It's not right," Aziraphale said. "You're taking five complex temptations, and a blessing across the ocean for me, and I'm supposed to get some delivery boy drunk and rearrange a little ink while he's not looking? That's nothing. You could find a human to do that."

"Gah… 'ziraphale. Don't get so worked up. It's just for now. Since, you know. You know."

"I'm afraid I don't know." Aziraphale glared at him.

Crowley looked away as he spoke. "Since I'm having an easier time going both ways."

"Of course you are," Aziraphale said. "You were an angel once. I'm beginning to think that--"

"No!" Crowley snapped, storming away for a moment before stomping right back. "Absolutely not. No. Nope. That is not what this is about."

"What, this isn't your spark of inner goodness, trying to come out?" Aziraphale sneered. "Why are you even doing this with me? You say you're lazy, sure, and I'll believe that, but mostly I thought you were just looking for an excuse to do something good once in a while." 

"Something worthwhile," Aziraphale added, punctuating the last word with a glare.

Crowley looked completely dumbstruck for a moment. When he found his voice again it was sharp, and strained. 

"I'm not-- I don't-- fuck you, Aziraphale."

"I'm beginning to think that--" Aziraphale repeated, "--that this was a bad idea. It's always been a dangerous proposition, morally questionable at best, but I simply cannot abide by you taking it easy on me. And the fact that I can't seem to do--that I can't pull my own weight…" He took a breath, trying to compose himself. "It just seems like it might be a sign. That we shouldn't be doing this."

"I don't care about any of that, angel!" Crowley pleaded.

"Yes, of course you don't care about my concerns. You never do."

"No, no! I don't care that you're not there yet." Somehow, despite the heat of their anger, Crowley's voice had dropped into something gentler--raw and desperate, but soft. (Even now, offering Aziraphale patience that he hardly deserved.) "I know it'll come in time. I can wait."

"Well, I can't. We're done," Aziraphale said, and turned to leave.

"Fine!" Crowley yelled.

"Yes, fine!" Aziraphale yelled behind him as he stormed away. He looked down at the burrs stuck to the fur lining of his own boots. "And next time just get a blasted comb in the village to scrape off those burrs. And if you care so much about how you look, you should run it through your hair while you're at it. Though I'm not sure whether that hair would be better off facing a comb or the sharp edge of your sword."

"At least I've changed my hair at least once in the last five thousand years!" Crowley yelled back.

"Hrmph!" Aziraphale loved his own hair. Crowley couldn't appreciate timeless, classic style.

As he walked away, Aziraphale's eyes began to water and sting. Why? Why was his body reacting this way, when this was clearly the right thing to do? 

Aziraphale returned to the village. He paused outside the tavern, considering grabbing a bite and a drink before departing, but the prospect of sitting there alone was unappealing. He retrieved his horse and rode back towards the abbey. In the late afternoon hour, the sun settled low and cast a soft warm light over the countryside as he rode. The newly budding leaves, shining in golden light, should have reminded him of Heaven, of Grace, of the triumph of life after a dark winter, of the blessings of divine beauty given to this place... but mostly it all made him feel emptier and more alone. This landscape could so effortlessly blend Earthly beauty and divine light, with both parts integrated and whole. Why couldn't he be like that?

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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